


Finding Home

by SpacePancake



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Second person POV, au world — doesn’t follow canon, because im quirky like that, music producer glenn au, totally not an alvin and the chipmunks au, vince is a he/him lesbian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacePancake/pseuds/SpacePancake
Summary: Terry Jr, Grant, Lark and Sparrow are four kids trapped in animal forms who can’t remember that they’re actually human. They’re just trying to survive one day to the next with no idea their parents are relying on them to break a curse. They can talk for some reason, and all of them are pretty fond of singing.Nick Close is a college dropout and a songwriter. All he wants to do is impress his dad with his work.When they cross paths, the boys will bond in ways they never expected on their rise to stardom and learn what it means to be a family.(or: the Alvin and the Chipmunks AU that nobody asked for)
Relationships: all the sons - Relationship, glenn & nick, nick & the sons, yeet/nick (past)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mei: imagine a movie producer glenn au  
> me: so ian from alvin and the chipmunks?  
> me: ... wait-

Your name is Sparrow Oak-Garcia. You are ten years old. You have a twin brother called Lark and are both the result of ‘free range parenting’. You are currently running for your life.

Your hand is tightly wrapped around your brother’s. Sweat threatens to make your grip slip, but it stays. Your feet slam hard enough against the ground that it hurts and your bush of a ponytail is clinging to your neck. Every breath comes out hurried and you can’t seem to breathe much air back in.

You steal a glance at your brother. He’s your mirror image when you want to be, but right now you two couldn’t look any more different. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are narrowed and looking straight ahead. Unlike your own, his hair is completely loose and flowing out behind him like a golden lion’s mane. His breathing is controlled, if laced with some angry huffs as he stays in step beside you.

Beside you  _ mostly.  _ He’s actually running slightly ahead of you, tugging at your wrist to get you to follow along.

You twist around the corridors of the house that never stops with ease until finally you reach a large pair of dark oak doors that mark the exit. Your freedom. Your victory.

Lark’s free hand reaches out to push down the door handle. The door pulls inwards a little, but is stopped. There’s a noise of metal against metal. Locked.

Lark pushes and pulls the door a few more times to no avail, then lets go of your hand to put more force behind it. He’s growing angry now, making short noises of frustration that near growls.

You put a hand on his shoulder and he stops.

“We’ll find a window or something.” You say. “Smash it. Jump out.”

Lark nods, but when you turn around she’s already there.

Nia gives you two a strained smile. “Boys.” She says. “Playing games isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

“We’re not playing games!” Lark yells.

“Yeah!” You chime in, and you can feel your own anger growing slowing to match your brother’s. “Let our mother and father go!”

She laughs, and it’s inelegant. An unrefined snort that shakes her red hair. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

Your hand tightens on your brother’s shoulder, but he shrugs himself loose from your hold and barrels toward the witch. He never reaches her. Instead, there’s a loud boom of thunder and your hands go rushing towards your ears. Before you even get there, you feel yourself pushed away from her with monumental force into the thick wooden door behind you. Your world goes dark instantly.

You always figured that if you were an animal, you’d be a wolf. Strong, powerful, smart, friendly,  _ big teeth.  _ You never really expected that were you  _ actually  _ to be cursed by a dimensional/transmutation witch that you’d end up as a ferret. 

But hey, at least it’s not a snail.


	2. What’s new, pussycat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA-OOO-WHOA-OOO-WHOA-OA-OOO

Your name is Terry Jr and you are a cat. Specifically, a calico cat. More specifically, a calico cat that can talk.

Other cats can’t talk. They hiss at you when you try.  _ Most  _ animals seem to dislike you, in fact. Every animal apart from your boys.

There’s Grant, a large St Bernard, and the two ferret twins, Lark and Sparrow. One time you asked why the ferrets had named themselves after birds. They told you they didn’t really remember, but they guessed that it was because it was funny.

It  _ is  _ pretty funny, to be honest.

You can all talk, which is why, you suppose, you formed your group. You don’t remember though. None of you can recall meeting, but you’ve been with each other for as long as any of you  _ can _ remember.

You’re usually the one in charge of getting food for the group. Grant is large enough that it’s hard for him to be sneaky and there’s a high chance of him getting thrown into a pound. The twins are better at being sly, but are too easily distracted and you’re scared they might get lost. Plus fucking  _ ferrets,  _ man. They fall asleep anywhere. 

So all responsibility is left to you.

You’re returning to where you left your boys now, a raw chicken breast between your teeth as you scurry through the legs of passersby. You’ll need to make another trip, but it’ll be enough for the twins, at least.

When you turn around the corner to where you left the gang, you almost deflate. Grant is holding one twin gingerly between his teeth while trying his best to keep the other pressed down beneath his paws.

You drop the chicken. “What’s going on?”

Lark is still trying to scramble out from underneath Grant’s paws, but Sparrow turns to you from his new home in Grant’s jaw and answers. “We were searching for an adventure!”

Lark squeezes out of Grant’s grasp and scurries past you with a squeak of “freedommmm!”

You chase after him instantly, but he’s slightly faster than you are. You lose track of him for a moment and then finally you catch sight of him on the top of a car. You have no idea how he even managed to get up there.

There’s an open briefcase beside him, the owner is just at the pavement, showing off something to a woman beside him. Lark doesn’t hesitate to jump inside and spin around like he’s trying to mock you.

And then you can’t see him anymore. You know what has happened, of course. The absolute bastard has fallen asleep.  _ Fucking ferrets. _

You contemplate a life as a cat without terrible children to look after for just a minute before you’re jumping up onto the bonnet on your way to fetch him.

Then the man shuts the briefcase without looking inside, and you’re roughly shoved off the bonnet by him before he grabs his case and gets into the car. There’s a lanyard loose in the man’s hands and you just catch sight of the company name printed on it before he closes the door: Faerun Records.

The door shuts and then Lark is  _ gone. _

_ Fuck.  _ Time to go on a rescue mission.


	3. I Have A Dream (A Song To Sing)

Your name is Nick Close and you dropped out of college two years ago. You called up your dad to tell him and instead of asking what your backup plan was, he laughed and said, “hey man, whatever works for you.”

You tell people that you’re a songwriter when they ask what you do for a living. You’ve never had a published song, of course, but it sounds more impressive than “I live off checks my dad sends me but I just recently started a part-time job at the grocery store so I can stop feeling like a total failure”. Nobody asks more questions than that anyway for fear of you throwing your music at them. 

It’s a dream of your’s to get a song published, and today might be the day. You have a meeting with your dad, a higher up at Faerun Records. It’s one thing that you might achieve your biggest dream today, but it’s another thing altogether that you’ll finally get to sit down with your dad for the first time in a long time and show him what you’re proud of. You admit, only to yourself, that the dream of getting a song published is really just a dream of impressing your dad.

So you’re up early for once! You  _ shower  _ and get dressed in a  _ suit  _ and look  _ wicked  _ professional. You’re killing it and you’re  _ going  _ to kill it at this meeting. Your dad is going to be so fucking proud of you that he’s going to  _ cry. _

Your neighbours are out when you walk past to your surprise, masks over their faces as Killa spray paints a skateboard and Yeet watches the process.

“Hey, guys.” You say as casually as you can to the people you have been avoiding for the last six months who have also been avoiding you for the same amount of time.

They look at you, then look to each other, and then Yeet is on his feet and coming over to you. You wonder, briefly, if the flat part of a prosthetic is still called a ‘foot’, but figure the question shouldn’t be the first thing you say to the ex-boyfriend you’ve been ghosting.

Yeet Bigly (you’ve never had the courage to ask if he chose to go by that or if his parents were just  _ weird _ ) looks you over pretty passively. “Hey, Nick. You look nice.”

“Yeah.” You say, because for once you’re feeling good about things. “I’ve got a demo meeting today.”

“Oh, for real?” He smiles. “That’s great, Nick. That’s… really good.”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” You nod. “I was wondering, actually, if you wanted to come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night?”

Yeet pulls a face. “Uh-“

“You and Killa, I mean.” You quickly amend when you sense where his mind is going. “As like, a hangout? I know I was kinda a mess before, man. But like, I’ve really got myself together now. I think. And just, I miss you guys, y’know?”

“Alright.” Yeet nods. “Yeah, dude. We’ll make it.”

“Tight. Catch you later.” You reply, and reflexively hold up the devil horns.

When you get to Faerun Records, your excitement is nearly rolling off you. You feel practically  _ giddy,  _ and you have to collect yourself before you end up making an ass of yourself in front of your dad.

You make your way over to the secretary’s desk and give her a polite smile with some added Close Boy Charm. “I’ve got a meeting scheduled? I’m not sure where I’m meant to go.”

She returns your smile. “I can check that for you. Can I get a name?”

“Nick Close.” You say, and before you can stop yourself you add, “Glenn Close — he’s my dad.”

You expect her to look at you like a loser, but she just laughs a little. “Nice to know people in high places.”

That feels like an insult. You nod though. “Guess so.”

She finds your meeting on the schedule and waves a hand towards some seats behind you. “You can sit while you’re waiting. I’ll tell him you’re here and he’ll be down in just a moment.”

You take a seat, but your legs are bouncing. Every second that passes by feels like an eternity, but is also passing  _ way  _ too fast because there’s no way that this is happening here and now.

“Nick.” Calls a voice, bright and cheerful. You look up.

It is  _ not  _ your dad.

You bite back a sigh. Fucking  _ Gartok.  _ Your dad’s shitty personal assistant. He acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but you  _ know  _ he has it out for your old man.

Still, you stand up to meet him and smile politely. “Hey, dude. My dad up in his office or something?”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Gartok pulls his face in the fakest show of concern you’ve ever seen. “I’m taking all your dad’s meetings today, bud. He asked me to weed out whatever’s unimportant and pass the rest onto him.”

“Does he know his meeting with me was today?” You ask.

“ _Aw_ ,” Gartok puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he does.”

He says it like it’s meant to be reassuring, but it’s the absolute  _ worst  _ thing he could’ve said and you’re sure that he knows that.

He leads you to the elevator, and things start to pick up once you reach the right floor. An intern with the name tag ‘Doug’ comes over to you and holds out a basket. “Complimentary muffin, Mr Close?”

You shake your head. “That’s alright, man.”

Hell yeah.  _ This  _ is the treatment you were looking for. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Even fucking Gartok couldn’t deny how banging your music was anyway.

Two other people approach you with offers of complementary food, which you also refuse, and every interaction is just making you feel better and better. Whatever damage your confidence had taken by Gartok’s arrival has recovered fully now, baby! You are at your  _ peak. _

The bustling of the floor quiets to nothing when you get to your dad’s office. It’s  _ nice —  _ all white and shiney and ridiculously expensive looking — but none of it really feels like Glenn Close.

Gartok tells you to take a seat, and you oblige. He sits down across the desk from you with a sigh, and once he’s got your demo loaded up, he presses play and leans back in his chair.

You look for his reaction eagerly, but he just sits there with joined hands resting on his face like he’s casually praying, and spins back and forth a few centimetres on his chair.

He plays about forty seconds of the track, then reaches over to the computer and pauses it. He pulls the chair closer to the desk and rests clasped hands in front of him.

“Nick, I’ve got to be honest with you.” He says. “It fucking sucks.”

“Well, you just, uh,” you begin to defend, “You just haven’t reached the best part! When you hit one minute forty three? That’s when it  _ really  _ gets going, baby!”

“Look, kid.” He says, and you have to restrain yourself from heavily objecting because your dad is the _only_ one that’s allowed to call you a kid and get away with it. “If I have to wait until nearly two minutes in to start enjoying it? It’s a bad song. I can’t pass this onto your dad in good conscience. I want the best for you, I do. But I also know you want to make your dad proud, and this? This won’t.”

You let the words sink in, and they sink in _deep_. You know Gartok’s an asshole, but maybe he’s right? Maybe you overestimated yourself. Maybe music isn’t something you can just inherit from your more talented dad.

Gartok continues. “If I wasn’t looking out for you, I’d just tell you to go back to the drawing board. Give it another shot. But I  _ am  _ looking out for you. Your dad? Would be embarrassed to hear this. You got lucky this time that I was here instead of him. Don’t make that mistake again.”

You leave the office without much else being said between you. You go to look for the food you were offered earlier, but are told that the deli is empty now and the pretzels are gone. Everything feels so much colder. The smiles of the desk workers down the hall have all faded and been replaced with looks of disdain.

You find the muffin basket from earlier, but when you go to reach for it, Doug the Intern moves it aside. “Those are for somebody else.” He tells you.

“Oh. Sorry, man.” You reply, taking the last few steps towards the elevator. You push the button. As the elevator slowly travels up, you take another look at the muffin basket. There’s a ding as the doors open, and in a split second you make a decision. You rush forward, snatch up the entire basket, and run back to the elevator — fingers jamming against the buttons to close the doors.

“Hey!” Doug yells, getting to his feet. 

The doors are closing too fast for him to actually do anything about it though, and before they shut you yell, “See you later, suckers!”

You’ve successfully stolen a muffin basket.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is Terry Junior and though you’re not quite sure why the ‘Junior’ is there, you  _ are  _ quite sure that you’re going to kill a ferret once you find him.

You know where Faerun Records is, though you don’t remember being this far into the city before. By all means, those two pieces of information don’t really add up. Oh well, it’s not the job of a cat to question the universe.

The glass doors to the building show that the place has already fallen to pandemonium — a good sign that Lark is inside and out of the briefcase somehow. Fancy looking people are jumping up onto tables and couches, keeping their feet off the floor and their coffees high in the air to avoid them spilling. The only people in action are a pair of security guards running around the room. You spot Lark dart under a sofa just as one of the security guards crashes to the ground in an attempt to catch him, fingers just barely missing him and grabbing nothing but air.

Someone pushes the door to run out of the building, and you take the opportunity to dart inside. Grant follows close behind, Sparrow hitching a free ride on his back. As soon as you’re all in, Sparrow jumps to the floor and runs after his brother, joining the fray. Grant, reacting on instinct, bounds after the ferret, barking as a means of telling him to stop acting like a fucking idiot — briefly blissfully unaware that he had done that the exact same thing. At least none of them were talking. You guys draw enough attention to yourselves as it is, you don’t need whatever kind of spotlight speaking plain English would put on you.

The rest of your possé is running circles around the room now. Sparrow has caught up to Lark and the two of them are dipping under furniture and weaving through legs. Grant is close behind them, a lot less graceful. He barks at furniture when the twins use it as cover and people part like the Red Sea to avoid being barreled over by him. The two security guards are hot on their tails.

It’s looking like a goddamn Scooby-Doo chase up until a younger man tries to cross the room and ends up colliding with one of the security guards head on. The two of them crash to the ground, and both guards start apologising profusely as they attempt to help him to his feet. You decide that this is as good a time as ever to get you and you boys out of here.

With the loud chatting of the confused crowd, no one pays much attention to you sidling up to Grant or hears you ask, “Where are the twins?” You’ve lost sight of them.

Grant spins around in a circle a few times, looking like he’s trying to chase his own tail. “Fuck.” He says as he stops spinning. He doesn’t see them around then. And ‘the twins are out of sight’ means ‘the twins are doing something stupid.’

The man who was knocked over brushes the guards’ apologies off again and picks a dropped muffin basket up from the ground. It isn’t until he’s out the doors of the building that you spot it. The tiny little head of a stupid motherfucking ferret pokes out of the basket, and then a moment later, an identical one does the same.

If Grant ever holds one of the twins in between his teeth again, you’re going to convince him to bite down. You are going to die of stress despite the fact that you’re a fucking  _ cat.  _ You’d rather just be hit by a bus, honestly. 

You end up having to circle the room a few more times before someone  _ finally  _ leaves the building right when you pass by the doors, giving you and Grant a chance to slip outside. The parking lot for this part of the city is right beside Faerun Records, so it only takes the two of you a couple of seconds to find the man. You run to his car, but slow as you approach closer, peering around a bumper to see what’s happening. 

The man opens a back door of his car before tossing the basket inside without much care. He checks his phone, and groans as he reads whatever’s on the screen. He presses his head against the corner of the car door for a moment like he’s trying to compose himself before turning away from the car entirely as he starts composing a text.

You leap into the car once his back is turned, Grant jumping in after you. The twins have started play fighting in the basket, and you spent so long trying to convince them to cut it the  _ fuck  _ out that you don’t notice the car door slam shut. You manage to get the twins to quieten down before the driver’s door opens and the man gets inside. 

It’s fine. You can get out when the man stops again. By some divine blessing, the twins have crashed from their huge energy burst and, after burying themselves in muffins, are out cold for most of the drive. Grant is smart enough to be able to stay quiet while still conscious. You make it the whole way without a sound.

When you arrive at the man’s destination, he reaches back into the backseats faster than you expect him too. He snatches up the basket blindly before you can react. You jump to grab onto it but miss. He doesn’t notice the light thump as you land again.

It takes a  _ while  _ for you and Grant to get out of the car once the man closes his door. You lucky he’s a fucking idiot that doesn’t lock his car, but the whole eacaping fiasco involves you standing on Grant’s head so you can weakly claw at the car’s door handle with your paws. After a lot of trial and error, you manage to pull the handle towards yourself enough for Grant to open the door with a simple push of his head.

Now you just have to get inside the house.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Your name is Nick Close and you're fucking done. Donezo. Finished. Music clearly isn't for you and you just want to be  _ rid  _ of it completely.

Not that you ever want to lose music as a concept. Even now, loud angry music blasts your eardrums through some headphones. It's probably the kind of volume that leads to irreversible damage in later life, but you're not lame enough to be thinking about that kind of thing.

But your own music? Fuck it. You never want to touch an instrument again. There's a slow anger building up in your chest that reaches crescendo once you enter your music room. Your hand traces over the keys of your keyboard, before you take the entire thing up into your hands and storm to the front door. You open it, stare outside for a bit, before yeeting the entire thing across the garden. It lands with an unsatisfying thump on the grass instead of smashing into a million pieces like you expected it to in your head. You turn back inside and grab a guitar, then the pieces of your drum kit, then a bass. Instruments and equipment all get snatched up and thrown across the garden one after the other. You're yelling. You're yelling a lot. Everything hurts and maybe yelling will make you feel better.

"Nick?" 

It's Yeet. Killa’s standing beside him.  _ You're _ standing in your doorway after having thrown one of you final pieces of equipment outside and you try very hard and unsuccessfully to recover from your absolutely batshit display and look chill.

Your breathing is heavy. You lean awkwardly against the door frame and cross your arms. "Oh. Hey, guys."

They're standing behind the fence at the bottom of the garden. Killa's looking around at the scattered equipment while Yeet looks directly at you. He seems concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

It’s pretty clear to everyone here that you aren’t, but you get angry at the question anyway. You didn’t need his  _ pity.  _ You were just pissed off. 

“I’m fine.” You reply, short and snappy.

“Look, if we can help-“

You pull a face. “You think I need help?” It comes out too angry, but you don’t take it back. “Leave me alone, dude. Can’t you stay out of my business for  _ once _ ?” You hadn’t meant to spill out all that ‘connected to the past’ stuff, but anger twists your intentions and screws with your words.

“That’s not what I-“

Killa interrupts him. “ _ Jesus _ , Nick.”

You know you’re getting into childish territory, but the fact that Killa seems to be angry at  _ you  _ being angry is just stoking that anger even more. “Fuck off, what’s your deal?”

“My  _ deal  _ is that you can’t just use whatever shitty thing is happening to you as some excuse to be a dick just because someone wants to help you. You’re  _ always  _ like this. I’m sick of your daddy issues.”

She’s right and you  _ know _ it but you’re not going to let her win. “Don’t bring my dad into this, asshole. Where did  _ that  _ come from? I didn’t fucking say anything! Are you  _ looking  _ for a fight?”

For a moment it looks like she’s going to say yes. You know full well she could smash your back in with a baseball bat if she so wanted, but she just shakes her head and sighs. “You’re not worth the effort.”

She walks away, but Yeet lingers. He looks sad and you hate it. Killa’s right, you’re  _ always  _ like this. Things heat up too quickly because you refuse to let go and lose. You don’t  _ think  _ you’re always right, but being seen as wrong is hard anyway.

“You know,” Yeet says, “You don’t… you can talk to me if you need to. I care about you, Killa does too, even if she thinks you’re a dick. If you’ve changed like you said, you can just… talk to me. For once? I don’t know, whatever. See you later, man. If you need any help bringing your instruments back inside, I can chip in.”

You don’t say anything. He turns away. The whole exchange is sufficiently awkward for both of you.

You look down when you feel something brush against your leg and see a cat trying to skirt around you to get inside. You smile, despite how completely and utterly shit your day’s been thus far. “What’s up, little dude? You want some milk or some shit?”

The cat looks up at you and  _ stares.  _ It’s almost unnerving, like it’s trying to analyze something. But then it circles around your leg and mews at you as normal cats do. Hell yeah, cat friend. Crazy cat lady could be a viable future for you, maybe. Crazy cat bro? Awesome…

You walk inside and the cat follows close behind like you’re a mama duck. Look at y’all… bonded already? Shoulda known the Close Boy Charm could work on animals too. 

Something crashes into the ground over in the kitchen. The cat makes eye contact with you and you know what? This sounds fucking batshit but fuck it, this is your own head and you can think whatever the fuck you want: this cat looks sus as hell suddenly. It’s vibes are  _ way  _ off.

You turn to the kitchen to find out what dropped, but the cat starts up an incessant meowing that draws your attention back to them.

“It’s chill,” you say, “I’m just checking out what fell, I’ll get you some milk or something when I’m there. Calm down, dude.”

You weren’t expecting a cat to listen to you or anything, but it’s definitely surprising to find it clinging to your shoe as you try continuing on forward to the kitchen. You attempt to ignore them, figuring it’s playing a game with you. But when you get to the door of the kitchen, you bend down and scoop it up into your arms.

“ _ What  _ is going on with you?” You as like it can answer. You’re holding them in your hands, a little away from you and back towards the main living room. It looks over your shoulder at the kitchen and then  _ very  _ quickly looks at you again.

Like you said before, this cat is  _ sus. _

Ignoring it’s meowing, you walk into the kitchen as intended. You find the source of the noise, a bowl that’s been knocked to the floor, but, more importantly, you find the culprit. Surprisingly, it’s not your habit of stacking your unwashed dishes in hazardly unstable piles on the counter, but three other unwanted houseguests.

A big dog is struggling to keep some long-ass rat-looking thing under its paws, while a second long-ass rat-looking thing is running laps on your countertop. 

You blink. All three animals look your way. The rat-thing on the countertop asks, “Do you have any chicken?”

“What the  _ FUCK _ ?” You yell, but, by all means, it’s a pretty understandable reaction.

The cat in your hands sighs like a whole-ass human being would before it says, “Lark, you’re the  _ worst _ .”

You drop the cat.

**Author's Note:**

> just the prologue! A little sample before i post something genuine


End file.
